The Quartering Act
by Nobody in a Tree
Summary: The year is 1774 in the American Colonies, and tensions are high between British soldiers and scheming patriots. It is in this atmosphere of hooded rebellion and obsession with control that the Quartering Act is passed, and British soldier Draco Malfoy is sent to observe the streets from the residence of a seemingly simple young shopkeeper - Ms. Hermione Granger.
1. Prelude

_A/N : I don't own anything, obviously ... I'm pretty sure if I was JKR I wouldn't be posting to the sound of my dreadfully dull history teacher going on about the Haitian Revolution._

**_Please _**_comment with any ideas/comments about this fic or where you want to see it go... I'm excited about the premise but I need some help from all you kids reading!_

_But without further ado, I'll let you get to reading._

* * *

Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes. She didn't know quite why, exactly, but this morning was unmistakably irritating. Maybe it was the tiny rays of newborn sun which streamed through the thin lace curtains to speckle her clean white bedspread. Perhaps it was the sound of the birds brightly addressing the morning with hundreds of chipper little voices. It could even have been the constellations of wood dust dancing over her head, held captive and illuminated by pale morning light. It could, obviously, have been any one of these things, but it was most likely that the reason for Ms. Granger's immediate and deep rooted ill humor upon waking was the pounding headache assailing her skull.

She let out a little growl and shot her vision around the room, her eyesight compromised by eyebrows hunkering low over determinedly scowling eyes. The loft was exactly as it always was: neat and scarce, sparsely a thread out of place. The ghastly hangover she was harboring was, then, not conceived by one of her more destructive drinking episodes. Naturally, the next course of action was to search quickly for any sign of someone sleeping beside her; she had learned quickly in her adult life to always assume the worst about a night you can't remember. But the left side of the bed lay undisturbed, and Hermione heaved a sigh of relief before forcing herself out of the bed.

Her head was pounding worse than she could remember, but she said that every time. She grasped it tightly with one hand as she knelt in from of the large, beautifully carved wooden chest and opened it to reveal her clothing. It was the second of just four pieces of furniture in the expansive loft, the other three being her bead, the curtains covering the open window, and a wardrobe which matched the chest and housed spare sheets, blankets, and her shoes. The floor, walls and ceiling were uncovered to reveal wooden boards matching the ladder into the loft. The entire space was bright and immaculately clean, and smelled vaguely of linens and lemon thanks to the unique aftereffects of Hermione's cleaning charm.

After quickly dressing herself in a simple green dress spotted with flowers, the witch unlocked the bottom drawer of the chest and extracted a smooth, slender wand. Holding a looking glass to her face, she waved the wand in a quick, intricate pattern and almost immediately her bushy brown hair untangled itself and fell neatly down her back. Her eyelashes curled themselves, her cheeks gained a little color, and the weariness and bags from her eyes faded away. She smiled slightly to herself as she stored the glass gingerly back into the chest, tucking the wand into a pouch in her bodice. Keeping her feet bare, she padded lightly across the smooth floor and towards the ladder leading away from the loft and down to the storage room and kitchen of the tidy shop below. She would whip herself up a potion for the headache, restock the shelves, and open the doors to the bustling streets below. It was another day.

* * *

Draco Malfoy stood rigid in the tall window, looking up at the few feathered clouds just barely concealing the pale virgin sun. He had been awake for hours, cleaning and recleaning the bunker as he waited for the others in his squadron to return. The beds behind him were identical in every little fold of the thin sheet, every angle made by the rough, hard pillow. Fresh air from the open window combated the gloom in the long, dark room; birdsong pierced his ears. His bright red uniform was perfectly nipped and tucked. The uniforms of the rest of his squadron were starched and laid neatly on their bunks. Draco Malfoy detested being idle.

He turned sharply from the window, suddenly repelled by the sunlight he had been examining so closely. There was nothing more to see; morning had broken. He had always vaguely wondered if the phrase came from an egg. The first glimpse of the light on the horizon was the crackling of the thin white shell. After that the vivid yolk came bursting out all at once until before you know it everything is still: just a sedentary lump of yellow sitting suspended in a clear, untouched sky.

The others still weren't back, so he made his way slowly to the shared bathroom. Draco had been suspended from the meeting the rest were attending - the punishment had been designed to insult his sense of honor. It was all very silly, really; to Draco it just meant he had to sit bored and alone in the bunker for an hour or so. It was, after all, a price he was more than willing to pay for the lovely night he had spent with that brunette. No, blond? His memories of intimate encounters, especially those fogged and blotted by alcohol, never served him well in respect to those rather unimportant details. Her hair color, for instance. Or, from time to time, her name.

He came to a rest in front of the looking glass. It was old and dirty, warped strangely in places, but still it served its purpose. A thin, blunt face stared back at Draco. Its stormy grey eyes seemed bleak and emotionless, the pale lips low on his chin a crack in his stony expression. The eyebrows hunched over their lids, sternness and discipline evident in every feature as they passed over the lines of Draco's uniform, followed closely by Draco's hands as they flicked off the smallest pieces of dust. Finally the reflection threw his hands straight at his sides and turned with one sharp step away from Draco and towards the door, or rather towards the many pairs of feet stampeding outside. The day's work was beginning.


	2. In Which Hermione Recieves a Guest

**_A/N : _**_Guys! This is by far the most recognition I've ever gotten from a fic, so I wanted to start out by giving all of my readers and anyone who gave my support in the comments section an enormous thank you! I hope this chapter rises to your expectations... I actually experienced quite a bit of stage fright while writing it :), so sorry for the delay._

_Please remember to let me know what you're thinking so far, and what you'd like to see in the next chapters. I'm very open to and excited to hear your suggestions! If you'd prefer, we can always chat on tumblr too.. my blog: **the-doctors-bonfire**  
_

_Also, you guys should be really flattered because I think this is the longest chapter I've ever written :O_

_ONE MORE THING: this fic is dedicated to my beautiful girlfriend Rose, who pretty much came up with the idea for this which I then stole._

_So without further ado, let's get these two lovely fictional lovebirds together!_

* * *

Draco Malfoy checked the address he clenched in his hand once more, praying he had somehow read it wrong. He was thoroughly in denial that he was, indeed, meant to be standing in front of the tiny little building a few blocks from the center of Philadelphia. The sun was at its pinical, and the heat was almost as overwhelming as the clamor and stench of the never-ending stream of gruff colonists stampeding through the coffee house doors. He couldn't help but feel for whoever was going to take care of these men inside; their faces screamed aggression and distaste. Draco felt belittled and silly sticking out like a sore thumb is his bright red uniform in the sea of gruff workers.

He took a moment and a breath, remembering who he was and why he was there. Sergeant Malfoy graduated with honors from Oxford, came from an extensive and influential family, and had been entrusted with a special mission in the colonies. There was no need whatsoever to be afraid of a few dirty laborers. Draco Malfoy never failed in anything; he was going to march into that coffee house wearing his superiority on his lapel and make his superiors in England proud.

That's about the time when Draco Malfoy ran away.

He came back in the late evening, as the sun was going down and a light, welcoming chill was beginning to take it's place. Evening was Draco's favorite time of the day, aside from the early morning. Things were calm, tranquil. Beautiful, really. And if there was one thing he was truly proud of, it was Draco Malfoy's appreciation for beauty.

Everything was rather subdued in the glowing light of the setting sun. The old swinging door looked just a tad short of welcoming even despite the boisterous voices from inside. Taking a deep breath and clutching the papers in his left hand, Draco took two sharp steps into the Coffee House.

The door swung shut behind him and absolute silence filled the room. Every face turned instantly to the man at the door. It was impossible to blame them, really... Draco Malfoy could not have been more out of place. His skin and hair were by far the palest things in the room... everything and everyone else was covered by a rather healthy amount of grime. He was suddenly petrified that his carefully starched, bright red uniform was emitting a shocking glow. He stood up very straight. The room was filled with men of all shapes and sizes, all walks of life. The rich and poor, the pompous and the vulgar, the old and the young, the dirty and the... less dirty. Kings and thieves all throwing down money over the same card game. One thing, however, reunited them beyond all doubt: the expression that spread over their faces as they took in the red uniform was absolutely identical. Sour, disgusted hatred rolled over their features in exactly the same moment. The spark of rebellion in their eyes caught and spread around the worn tables until every man was ablaze. Five years of fighting for the glory of King and Country, and standing the the doorway of a Coffee Shop Draco Malfoy felt a terror far beyond anything he had ever known.

It only lasted a moment. The men returned to their conversations and gambling as soon as the soldier continued his stiff strides towards the counter situated at the back wall. The atmosphere was quieter, though. More sinister. Draco's left hand clenched the papers even tighter.

"Can I help you, sir?" asked a voice equal parts feminine and piercing, which startled Draco to his core.

A bushy haired head sprung up from somewhere under the counter, wearing an overworked but playful grin. She was clutching a rag and a tin mug. She had impossibly perfect teeth. She took her time in observing the stranger; hair, uniform and all. The grin was wiped off her soft face, and when she met his eyes again, there was a bitter edge in her expression. Draco's discomfort, however, was quickly replaced with a kind of vindictive triumph. Everything fell into place almost instantly. Here was a beautiful woman - and Draco excelled in matters involving beautiful women. This wasn't going to be hard at all. No, he was beginning the thank his lucky stars he was assigned this particular job.

"One of George's men, I see," she began with obvious distaste. Draco was amused to see her dainty nose wrinkle. "Then I recommend you get your coffee and get out."

The soldier let out a harsh laugh before leaning over the counter and fixing the girl with a heated, appraising kind of stare. He allowed his gaze to slip up and down her body, and she backed up a few steps warily, a blush beginning to spring across her cheeks. "I'm not here for the coffee, dear."

The woman scoffed and rolled her eyes, totally disregarding Draco as she turned to grab a mug from the shelves behind the counter. She shouted over her shoulder at him as she busied herself needlessly reorganizing dozens of mismatched cups. "Well then I hardly know what I can do for you; I paid my taxes last week and I have documents to prove it, so don't you go trying any of that. I avoid tea taxes like the plague so I can't serve you a cuppa, and I don't have any rooms for rent - you'll have to go up the street for that." Gaining confidence, she leaned boldly onto the counter which he had already claimed, a challenging gleam in her eyes. "Perhaps I could interest you in a pastry?"

It was Draco's turn to stare. He had never known a colonist to be so bluntly disrespectful to someone in uniform, much less a woman. He supposed he couldn't have expected anything different from someone who would call her coffee house _George's Boot_. The girl smirked at his dumbfounded silence and turned to attend to a customer. She was still laughing at him when she returned.

"Have you decided on your order?"

He gave her a mocking grin and leaned back from the counter, causing her smirk to become more pronounced. Without breaking his eye contact, he held up the papers clutched in his hands before throwing them onto the counter. She was still laughing at him, but he would have the last laugh. He just hadn't told his punchline yet.

"Are you aware of the new acts imposed on the colonies by the British parliament, Mrs. Granger?"

"It's _Ms _Granger, actually," she began sharply, but stopped short, flustered by the awkwardness of the moment. Draco raised his eyebrows mockingly, eyes twinkling. He knew she had just been trying to make him look foolish, but he rejoiced in her momentary discomfort. She quickly regained her biting sarcasm, however. "And my apologies, but I wouldn't have any time left over to run a business if I made myself aware of every law King and Country imposed onto the colonies. You'll have to educate me, _sir._"

Draco's spirits soared. He was actually going to be the one to break the news to this girl. "These papers are copies of the new law which congress has passed; the _Quartering Act_, which allows me and any other British soldier room and board in whichever colonial home or business we should choose. Obviously," he paused to appreciate the affronted shock on her face and smile mockingly, "I chose this shop."

There was a kind of vindictive pleasure in watching her rustle frantically through the papers. Emotions, one by one, flow across her face like characters on a she finally threw down the papers to meet his eyes once again, it was in defeat. Her voice quivered delicately when she spoke, although she maintained an exemplary facade of professionalism. She even turned up her nose a bit when re-stacking his papers.

"I'll close my shop in an hour. Come back then and we'll discuss this further." Draco, now completely assured of his authority, raised one cocky eyebrow and smirked. He wasn't going to let her off the hook that easily. "Please," she said stiffly, hatred written in every line of that lovely face.

It was his turn to smirk. Her hand moving across the counter to hand him the documents was suddenly stopped by five long, muscular fingers wrapping around her wrist. Her eyes shot up to meet his, filled with sudden shock. He was suddenly overcome by the rush of power he felt with his hand pinning a beautiful girl to the table in the middle of her own shop. "Well, since you asked so nicely," he said quietly, his voice dropping low and positively dripping with dark promises. _Ms_. Granger's eyes glazed over slightly, her pupils dilating.

The soldier leaned in to pick up the papers on the counter. She didn't turn away until he let go of her thin wrist with a little added flourish. He wore his triumphant smirk all the way out of the coffee house.

* * *

Without really knowing why, Hermione Granger had sent away all her patrons early and was giving everything in the coffee house an intense scrubbing. She sat hunched on a chair in the middle of the room, biting her nails and directing with her wand absentmindedly as sponges and mops flew through the air all around her, violently cleaning the days grime away. Usually this was her favorite time of day; she'd pour herself some chocolate while the cleaning was under way, but after that she could heave her old spell-books down from the top shelf behind her counter and quietly practice magic. When business and family had brought her to a muggle city she had promised herself she wouldn't stop learning, and for the most part she hadn't. She was still getting better, still working, and the gift she had was stronger than ever. She had even found some friends who shared her talents.

As a flying mop gently nudged her off the stool, Hermione wondered darkly if her magic days were over. She highly doubted her new roommate would be accepting of a witch in his King's colonies, and it was clear already that he was a cold man. She gritted her teeth as she remembered their encounter earlier today. Insufferable, truly. She was going to be forced to share her food with this man! Her home, her livelihood... Hermione paled as she recalled the iron feel of his hand around her wrist, his gaze sweeping up and down her body, the cruel smirk on his face... who knows what else he might demand?

Her dark thoughts were stopped short by a soft purr from the table behind her. Her shaggy, fat, beast of a cat had cornered an animated sponge between her paw and the table and was going in the for the kill. Hermione laughed and, with a wave of her wand, the sponge turned itself into a neat little orange place mat. There was nothing to worry about, after all. She would be just fine. She giggled as Crookshanks looked around in a panic, but was suddenly interrupted by a clock chiming. The man was due to come back at any moment. Muttering incantations in a kind of wild frantic, Hermione sent the cupboard doors slamming shut behind the brooms and brushes just a moment before the door swung open behind her and _he _entered. She stuffed her wand in her corset before turning around.

He was leaned casually against the door frame, looking around the shop with an air of complete and total ownership. She took a deep breath and tried on a weak smile. This was probably all an embarrassing misunderstanding, and it would all be resolved much easier with appropriate cordiality.

"I guess they don't teach you to knock back in the Motherland?" she joked lamely. He turned towards her and raised his eyebrows slightly at her behavior, causing her to cross her arms in front of her torso lamely and look determinedly at the floor as he continued his appraisal. They were suspended in an awkward silence for a moment or two until she was startled by a soft voice from the doorway.

"Just a bad habit from living in army quarters, I guess I'll have to try to break it." Her gaze shot up, startled. He was smiling at her, a slight challenge gleaming in the corner of his eye. He had spoken so harshly in the loud, crowded coffee house she hardly recognized him through the gentleness of his voice. "I'll get some chairs, you get some coffee, and let's talk about these papers, shall we?"

Hermione was speechless. She had to catch her breath in the kitchen, and her shock caused her multiple times to drop the kettle or the mugs. She just didn't understand; the crude and wicked man from earlier was replaced with a perfect gentlemen, and try as she might she couldn't think of what might have brought on the change. Perhaps it was relief from the lack of shouting men filling the small space, or the release of the stress from going into a totally new situation. Whatever the reason, she was grateful for the change. Maybe even foolishly so... after she had the tray of coffee all prepared, she took a moment to cast a spell on her face to make her more presentable. Blushing like a schoolgirl, she stumbled out of the kitchen.

The soldier was sitting at her favorite table. It was small, intimate, and in a corner surrounded by the only two windows which faced out towards the courtyard. It was a guilty pleasure of hers to attend almost obnoxiously to any couple who requested those seats, because she couldn't help but imagine all sorts of stories about them. There was one couple that came back every Sunday for lunch who were frankly just absolutely adorable, and she had been known to chase people away to make room for them. She was constantly adding a candle for ambiance, and often annoying the hell out of the occasional same-sex patrons. This time, however, the soldier had taken that liberty himself. His features highlighted by the soft candle light, Hermione realized for the first time just how beautiful the man was. His features were distinctly reminiscent of the elves in her fairytale books. His eyes were icy blue and piercing, his pale skin luminous in the orange life. Hermione found herself instantly and inexplicably flustered for the second time in two hours.

It was obvious that the soldier noticed; he was instantly uncomfortable. "I took the, uh... liberty to..." He trailed off awkwardly, eyes widening as he took in her face and the flower she had put onto the tray. She blushed instantly and shoved the rose out from between the two mugs and onto the floor. "...documents." he finished quietly.

She slammed the tray on the table and stuffed herself into the chair. "Documents." she repeated firmly. He rewarded her humor with an almost smile and a stack of papers.

"So basically what all this means, this _Quartering Act, _is that if my superiors assign me to stay at any residence owned by a colonist, that colonist is required to give me adequate room and board for as long as my superiors and I see fit. Does that make sense?" His tone was business like and to the point, but his eyes were anxiously searching Hermione's face for a reaction. She sucked in her cheeks in distaste at the law and met his gaze with a tired glare. It showed years of hatred and sacrifice, but without any spark of rebellion.

"It makes sense," she said after a sigh of defeat. "But tell me what _exactly _that has to do with my situation."

The soldier sighed. "According to my superiors, this coffee shop, in this town, is the epitome of colonial culture. They sent me here because they want to understand the colonies better. So I'm going to live with you, in this coffee shop, and keep tabs. Also, you're required by law to feed me..." he took a moment to check the wording on one of the papers scattered across the table, "...adequately".

Hermione took a long, long moment to read every one of the papers sitting on the table while the soldier sat quietly sipping at the coffee, polite distaste mixed with a kind of curiosity all over his face. Eventually she sighed and threw down the last paper, setting her head in her hands and staring at the man across the table.

"Okay" she finally said.

"Okay?" he had that crooked grin on his face as he set down the coffee.

"Okay" she finalized. "I guess there's nothing I can do, so..." She sent him a quick grin across the table, just slightly laced with exhaustion. "Where do you want to sleep?"

He laughed and sat back in his chair, rubbing his hair like some kind of teenager. "If you have some blankets I guess I can sleep in the kitchen. Have somewhere I can put my stuff?"

The utter weight of the day was beginning to settle in and around Hermione's eyes. "I'll throw down some blankets. Just throw your stuff wherever. We can talk some more in the morning... if you want." She just wanted to go to bed.

The soldier nodded absentmindedly, yawning over his shoulder and stacking the papers back up. Hermione watched him closely for a few seconds, and then started laughing an utterly absurd, hollow laugh. "I'm sorry," she said, getting up from her seat and walking towards the stairs, shouting back at him over her shoulder. "It's just... I met you two hours ago and I hated you, and now you're like a completely different person, and we are now living together!" her voice was slipping quickly into hysterics as she gathered blankets from the wardrobe in her loft. "I don't even know what your name is!" she shrieked as she carried the blankets haphazardly down the stairs. "I keep referring to you as 'the soldier' whenever I think about it!"

Suddenly she lost her footing on the ladder and fell. For a second she was just falling through space, but then she felt strong hands around her waist as she was slowly lowered to the ground. She whipped around and was suddenly face to face with the man.

"Draco Malfoy," he said quietly, letting her go and picking up the blankets from where she'd dropped them. "My name's Draco."

Hermione nodded, too confused and exhausted for words. As she was climbing the stairs once again and dropping into her bed, she really only had one thought real left in her swirling mind.

_What will the Order think?_


End file.
